


Shelter

by Elektra Pendragon (elekdragon)



Category: Frank Herbert's Children of Dune (2003)
Genre: M/M, Parent/Child Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-10-28
Updated: 2003-10-28
Packaged: 2017-10-12 08:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/123160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elekdragon/pseuds/Elektra%20Pendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leto no longer has to dream about his father's arms around him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shelter

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Leto and Paul meet up in the desert, and before Leto and Paul meet up with Hallack in the sietch.

Leto stretched out on his side across the slightly gritty floor of the sietch. He curled his arm under his head and rested his cheek against the textured wormflesh that covered his forearm. Even though he closed his eyes, he couldn't find sleep. His mind ran wild with thoughts, doubts, fears, visions. Running and running, until Leto was almost vibrating under his skin.

Long years, pain, trials...the Golden Path was not an easy one, and the end was possibly the most unpleasant fate one could imagine, but it was his choice. His destiny. It was the future he could escape, but only to the ruin of them all.

The not-skin wasn't as disturbing as it might have been. The curling armor was fleshy, warm, dry without being rough. It was soft, almost like velvet, as he rubbed his cheek across it, and it was very responsive. He could feel the movement against the wormskin clear down to his bones. How would it feel when it covered his entire body? It was warm, warmer than the patches of his own skin hiding between the whorls and patterns.

The floor, by contrast, was cold, as only the sietchstone could be at night. The smuggler den was hardly a proper sietch, more like a temporary hiding place as they moved nomadic across the shrinking desert. There were no extra blankets or packs for strangers; one who entered the desert unprepared soon died, and there wasn't enough for strangers. It was almost like living in the old days.

Again, his thoughts ran around in a circle, moving from the past to the present and back into the future, looping around each vision until they were so entwined, Leto could hardly tell the difference between them. His mind ached, longing for the rest that could only come from the deepest sleep, beyond dreams and visions and thought. No matter how his mind raced, it could not catch up with sleep.

The stone leached the warmth from his skin, all except where the armor covered him. It made him feel those areas of vulnerability all the more, though he was hardly vulnerable anymore. He felt naked where the wormskin had not grown, and for a few moments he wished it would move faster, cover him completely so he wouldn't have to feel so... human. Leto shivered at that thought when it progressed to its natural end. Soon, he would no longer be human at all.

Leto hugged his bare left arm closer to his body, curling around it protectively. Familiar words passed over his lips, ones he would have at other times mocked as he spoke them. "I will face my fear..."

Leto didn't want to face it. There was a part of him still that longed for everything to be solved by another, to be the one protected rather than the protector. He had never been a child, but he had the memory of hundreds and thousands who had a proper childhood, a time when a parent's touch could make all the bad things go away and save the world from destruction during a storm. He could remember the selfish simplicity of it all, and he longed for it.

Leto heard the scraping of feet across the floor, the sense of presence at his back when the Preacher crouched down behind him. He remained still, waiting for whatever words his father would say.

Instead of words, a touch, warm and dry, swept over his shoulder and came to rest at his elbow. The man's hands were old, worn by the desert, but Leto could remember back, way back, to when he was newly born, his small hand cupping a single finger as his father reached out to him. There was the same warmth, the same sense of emotion, and once again Leto knew that this man could be no one but his father. Paul Muad'dib. His skin flushed with heat where they touched.

"You should rest." The voice was rough, rasping like flesh over sand, but comforting. "While you can."

"There are too many thoughts in my head for me to find rest this night, Father." Leto said the name with a shiver of pleasure, relishing the release of finally being able to say the word to the man in the world of flesh instead of dreams.

"I know," Paul said simply. "Your thoughts are keeping me awake." There was a smile in his voice, and the image of a young Maud'dib flashed across Leto's eyelids, his strong face made soft and open with a generous smile.

"I shall try to think quieter," Leto joked. He added a soft, "Father," for the pure pleasure of saying the name again.

Paul's hand rested lightly against Leto's temple, following the curve of his skull up to his forehead. In the wake of his touch, Leto's skin tingled, as though some energy had passed between them. Instead of taking his hand away, Paul rested his palm on Leto's hair, his fingers fanned out across his forehead. The weight of his hand was comforting, easing some of the pressure inside his head. Leto rubbed his cheek against his arm, concentrating on the tickle of every hair that ruffled against his father's palm.

Paul's other hand let go of Leto's elbow to slide down his forearm. Their hands were well-matched, long boned and finely muscled, bare skin to bare skin as their fingers wound around each other.

Paul leaned close, his body stretching out across the sand-rough floor as he moved. His hand slipped out of Leto's hair, trailing down to where the wormskin covered his arm. Leto shivered deep down as fingers again traced those marks, not reading them this time, but just touching. Their hands were not so different here, either; Paul's wrapped in protecting rags, Leto's in wormflesh. He squeezed his father's hand lightly, feeling how he could now crush those delicate fingers with the slightest pressure.

His father was warmth and softness behind Leto, the bulk of rags and cloak covering them both like a blanket. Leto burrowed back into him until he could feel the hard press of Paul's body beneath the thick layers of fabric. Though he was hardly taller or broader than his son, Paul seemed to wrap around Leto, covering him completely with his sheltering arms. Leto clutched at the hand around his chest, pulling up their entwined fingers so he could kiss them before pressing them to his heart.

"Shhhhh," Paul breathed. "No more thoughts for tonight."

It should have been startling to find his mind calming so obediently, the raucous thoughts silenced after such a long torment, but Leto was too tired to question the rest as it finally came to him. There was only this moment, his father's arms, the silence of a desert night. Leto settled, absorbing the warmth and comfort of Paul's body as he slowly slipped into a dreamless sleep.

THE END


End file.
